Time of Your Life: Writer Chronicles
by peach83
Summary: I'm not prepared to let you go..." Jessie/Katie


**AN: Hi guys, it's been a long time… I'm still in love with Jessie and Katie. Hahaha…**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own any characters in here.**

**TIME OF YOUR LIFE: Writer Chronicles**

**By peach83**

The sound of a door slamming snapped me out of my daze. It's probably just a neighbor throwing a fit or something. Letting out a deep sigh, I turned my attention back to my laptop, and it was then that I realized that the page was blank. Damn writer's block, it's killing me. It had been 6 months since I published my latest book; a fiction about a brilliant female assassin in the center of an international conspiracy, which went straight to the top of the New York Bestseller list, like my first three books.

Finishing a story gives me a feeling of brief contentment. But starting a new one is hell. The first line is always the hardest. And right now, my mind just went totally blank. I let out another deep sigh. Throwing a glance at my wall clock, I realized I had been lounging around my living room for almost an hour now. Way to waste a precious amount of my time spacing out.

Shit.

I can just imagine my editor, and long-time friend Tad, pestering me any moment now. He's really good at pressuring people. And surprisingly, I let him pressure me most of the time. Maybe it's because of the friendship that started in highschool. We were even crowned prom king and queen back then. People still get surprised to know that we never date, ever. What can I say, we weren't each other's type.

However, we do have the same type…

But enough with my personal controversies for now. I'm due to submit a new manuscript. My last attempt had been harshly scrapped by a not-so-polite Tad two months ago. I couldn't blame him. He was amused, surprised, and annoyed at the same time when I turned in my first attempt of a romantic story, ever. He insisted it wasn't my genre, and it was a risk for my popular adrenaline-charged writing. He has a point. But it was just an idea. I don't even know why I wrote it. Maybe to compensate for the lack of romance in my own life; a sort of escape, I'd say.

Shit.

I cursed again. I still couldn't think of anything to write. Closing my eyes, my mind wandered back to my college days at Brown University. I remember my professor telling the class not to force ourselves to write when we couldn't, because the writer's block will only get worse. There's no exact formula in writing; just a few effective tools. You can read, do some research, maybe travel. Having an inspiration would work too.

Inspiration and desperation seems to be one and the same for me nowadays…

I let out a rather sad laugh. Life is so full of ironies. I need to clear my head and relax, so I pulled myself out of my very inviting couch to find something else to do for the meantime. It's Friday, so hitting my favorite bar sounds perfect. The crowd they have there is really tempting; a temptation I wasn't able to resist for quite a few times in the past. It has always been easy to find someone who's hot enough to arouse every part of me…

So I jumped into the shower, pulled on my hottest outfit, and prepared for one wild and hard-partying night. I was actually excited to meet someone, and maybe, just maybe, get inspired.

There's no harm in trying, right?

Making sure I have everything I need in my purse, I headed for my door and opened it, only to find Tad ready to knock…

"This has got to be a joke." I questioningly look at him; not really sure whether I want to know what he's doing in my doorstep.

"Going somewhere?" Tad narrowed his suspicious eyes at me.

"Yes. And what are you doing here?" I did not bother to let him in. Instead, I stepped out of my apartment in a rush, so as not to give Tad the option of coming in, and locked the door. Tad frowned as he followed me.

"Oh come on. I was planning a pizza and beer night." He joked, which made me cringe instead of smile.

"I'm not a dude. So stop inviting me to your cholesterol-filled pizza and beer nights. It doesn't really interest me." I never liked beer.

"But you love women."

"Doesn't mean I want to become one of you." I stopped in front of an elevator and pushed the button going down. Tad waited with me.

"Hot date?" Tad pried. I rolled my eyes at him.

"No date."

"Gorgeous Katie Singer without a date? Who would believe that?" I saw the grin form in his face.

"I don't have to go with one to end up with one." That was my 'brilliant' reply. Tad shakes his head. "And what was that for?" I glared at him.

"What?" Nice try to pretend innocent, Tad.

"Just don't talk to me, okay? You're ruining my mood." The elevator opened, so I stepped in, with Tad following me. There were no other people inside. From the 14th floor, the elevator descended.

Tad only obeyed my instructions for 20 seconds. To my annoyance.

"That was really gutsy of you, to turn in that idea of a tragic love story." Tad laughed.

"And you find that funny, because…?" Raising an eyebrow at him, he didn't even flinch.

"Because you don't even have a love life. How can you write one?" Tad stated what he supposes should be an obvious answer.

"I'm a writer, and I'm trying varieties. Just because I'm known for high action adventures, doesn't mean I couldn't go sentimental." I sounded indignant.

"Romantic stories are fine. Tragic love stories even leave better marks, and it worked for Nicholas Sparks. But you're Katie Singer." As if that explains his point.

"Are you questioning my ability to write?" Turning around, I crossed my arms as I faced him.

"Kat, you maybe at the top of our class in Brown, but let me point something to you. That last manuscript you gave me is good at some parts. But is it good enough? Of course not. Sure, tragic love stories sell. But tragic love stories that doesn't really end up in tragedy? I don't think so." Tad pointed out for me.

"You're entitled to one opinion, Tad." I turned to face the door again. It stopped at the 10th and other passengers came in.

"And my opinion is the only one that matters right now. You cannot just end a love story in a way that the characters are heartbroken because of something so stupid, they could have worked it out in real life."

"It's my vision, okay?"

"It's crap. Just listen to me now, okay? I'll give you a chance to write the love story that you want to write, just make it more…" Tad trails off for a better word.

"Pathetic?" I supplied with sarcasm.

"Bearable. If you want tragedy, then create a tragedy. But don't let pride or anger or any other crappy reason be the cause of the tragic ending. It just wouldn't work."

"But it happens."

"That's not the point. We're talking about selling books."

"I want it to be as realistic as possible." I hope I wouldn't have to explain any further.

"I love writing because we can make things work the way that it doesn't in real life. Kat, focus. This doesn't have to be personal."

"It's not a personal story." I think that sounded defensive.

"Oh, it's not inspired by a certain blonde who stuck a stake right through your heart?"

I glared at him.

"She didn't stick a stake right through my heart."

"It's a figure of speech."

"I know what you mean, I'm not an idiot."

"You're not over her."

"What?"

"You need closure."

"No one needs closure."

"You need to go back to Evanston and close that chapter of your life, Kat. It wears you down. You need to see your family; you need to see some old friends… And you need to see her."

"No I don't."

"You practically avoided every possible reason that would bring you back to Evanston. I know bad things happened there. You lost your father, and you lost the love of your life. But you have to remember that good things happen in there too. There are good memories to come back to."

"And if I don't want to come back?"

"You have to. She's the reason why you couldn't move on and find a stable relationship."

"It's a choice. Maybe I'm the no-strings-attached kind of girl."

"On the contrary, I think you're the monogamous one, because after those years, it's still her."

I turned my head to look up at Tad. I can see the friendly and reassuring expression in his face. But I'm the stubborn one. So, despite of knowing that maybe, he is making a point, I decided that unwinding at my favorite bar is my priority right now.

"I got to go, Tad." I ran out of the elevator as soon as it opens to the ground floor.

"Go back to Evanston, Katie. You might find some real inspiration." Tad called out after me. I didn't look back.

x - - - - - - - - - - - - - - x

It's been an hour and a half since I talked to Tad. At the bar, a few people came up to me to strike a conversation, but I just wasn't being the social butterfly that I am tonight. Screw Tad. This is all his fault for messing up with my head.

I let out a deep sigh. I tend to always do that whenever I'm frustrated. Why am I even feeling frustrated? I'm not supposed to care about whatever he said earlier. His opinions are not supposed to matter to me, especially when his primary purpose for having it is to meddle with my life.

A while ago, I'm struggling to regain my momentum in writing, and now, I seemed to have lost my charms too. I guess the mood Tad had set me in is reflecting outside, because people stopped asking me to dance. Not that they didn't try, but maybe because I kept turning them down.

So much for a 'wild, hard-partying night'. Maybe I should try another night. So, I turned around, left the bar and raced for the door, only to clash into someone who was walking the same pace as me.

"Aww!" I ran my head along the right side of my head.

"Aww…" I heard the other girl let out a painful cry.

"Oh, I'm so…" Turning to apologize, I finally got a good look of the other person; a person too familiar and I'm pretty sure I have met somewhere before; and I was surprised to realize who it was…

The other girl reflected the expression that I probably have on my face…

"Oh my God, Zoe Manning? Are you Zoe?" I uttered her name in disbelief.

"Katie Singer." Zoe smiled at me.

"Wow, you're tall." I had to laugh at myself. But you have to understand. Zoe was only 13 when I left Evanston, and it had been 7 years ago when I last saw her. Zoe laughed with me.

"And wow, you're… Older?" Zoe returned. Jessie once told me the girl used to look up to me. I laughed again.

"I think am… So, what are you doing here in New York?" Both of us were apparently leaving, so we headed to the door, and to make sure that there will never be another collision, I let her step out first.

"I'm in college, actually. I go to Sarah Lawrence."

"Awesome."

"Yeah… It's fun." Zoe smiled, but then I noticed the lost look in her eyes. She turned her face away from me. I can see her thinking, I don't know what but I'm sure it's something that bothers her.

"Are you okay? Are you not feeling well? Or, do you want to go home?" I asked in concern. Zoe had been like the little sister that I never had. Slowly, Zoe turned to face me again. This time, there were drops of tears rolling down to her cheeks. I stood in curiosity…

"I just got a call from Eli…"

"What did he say?"

"It's about Jessie…" A lump formed in my throat. Jessica Sammler is not really my favorite subject right now. Because everything about Jessie distracts me. Then I realized Zoe was looking at me as if she's waiting for me to say that it's okay to talk about Jessie…

"What happened to Jessie?" My heart raced just at the mention of her name. I've never spoken that name for quite a long time now. But something is going on, something that involves Jessie, and I couldn't help the curiosity in me anymore. What is the problem with Jessie that's making Zoe cry?

Somehow, I feel like I'm not prepared to know…

"She has HCM, Katie… She has three months to live…" Zoe started trembling after saying that. I wanted to reach out to comfort her, to hug her, but then it's me who needs it more…

I stood on the side of that New York street, tears uncontrollably falling from my eyes, in disbelief of what I had just heard. This could just be a nightmare, and I hope to wake up any moment… But I realized it was real, as I felt Zoe's arms wrap around me…

I'm Katherine Singer, 25 year old writer, and this is my tragic love story…


End file.
